"Now, mother, who is it?" insisted Hughie, as Lambert, the
French-Canadian man-of-all-work, lifted him from his place.

"You'll have to tell me, Hughie!"

"Ranald!"

"Ranald?"

"Yes, Ranald and his father, Macdonald Dubh, and he's hurted awful bad,
and--"

"Hurt, Hughie," interposed the mother, gently.

"Huh-huh! Ranald said he was hurted."

"Hurt, you mean, Hughie. Who was hurt? Ranald?"

"No; his father was hurted--hurt--awful bad. He was lying down in the
sleigh, and Yankee Jim--"

"Mr. Latham, you mean, Hughie."

"Huh-huh," went on Hughie, breathlessly, "and Yankee--Mr. Latham asked
if the minister was home, and I said 'No,' and then they went away."

"What was the matter? Did you see them, Lambert?"

"Oui" ("Way," Lambert pronounced it), "but dey not tell me what he's
hurt."